child of luxury and wealth reside, and in perfect contentment perform the
duties of her station. She suffered, but did not complain; she labored
hard, but was not weary; and, cheerful in her lot, smiled even at her
privations and sorrows.

In 1825 her health began to fail. Unable longer to labor for her perishing
heathen sisters, she sailed for England in order to enjoy medical advice
and care; but instead of improving by the voyage, she continued to decline,
until the hopelessness of her case became apparent. She embarked for
America in July, 1826, her residence of a few months in England having
rendered her no permanent benefit. In her low state the voyage was any
thing but agreeable; and she arrived among her friends the mere shadow of
what she was when, a few years before, she had gone forth in the flush of
youth and the vigor of health.

For a time after her arrival strong hopes were cherished that she
might recover. The balmy breezes of her own native valley, the kind
congratulations of friends, the interest and excitement of a return to the
scenes of youth gave color to her cheek and life to her step. But in the
early part of 1830 the prospect of returning health was dashed, and Death
appeared in all his terror. Long was her last sickness--so long that she
groaned to depart and be with Christ. For many months she suffered and
struggled on a weary bed, until the spirit call was heard, and golden gates
were opened, and the ransomed one entered in. During this sickness she was
sustained by the grace of God. Death found her ready, and led a _willing_
victim down into the sepulchre, who exclaimed, as she entered it, "O Death,
where is thy sting? O Grave, where is thy victory?"

Racked with pain and tortured by disease she murmured not, but, as each new
cup of sorrow was put to her lips, meekly replied, "The cup which my Father